


Hell's Own Blue Tint

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Afraid of Being Killed, Anal Sex, Attraction, Boys Kissing, Juice is Scared, Kissing, Longing, Loss of Trust, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant with some necessary divergence for plot line, Mutual Pining, Opposites Attract, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Pining, Please Don't Kill Me, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Slow Romance, Suspicions, Swimming Pools, Tags may be for future chapters, Touching, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: "He saw himself reflected in the Viking blue of his friend’s eyes, which mirrored the sky, whose color also surrounded them in the pool water. He was literally drowning in Alexander because Alexander was the blue azure of the sea and the heaven’s unmeasured blue and Christ he hadn’t felt this alive with anyone… ever."_Juice thinks Jax wants to kill him. He's also fallen for Tig. But can he trust Tig to help him or is he blinded by his feelings?
Relationships: Jax Teller/Opie Winston, Juice Ortiz & Tig Trager, Juice Ortiz/Tig Trager
Comments: 19
Kudos: 72





	Hell's Own Blue Tint

**Author's Note:**

> I know... I've got two other major series that I haven't updated in a while. But I'm finally swinging back to Sons again, pardon my absence. I don't plan on this being more than 3-4 chapters so don't worry, resolution of some kind will come and I promise not to drag this one out.  
> I'll be getting back to Wonderland and Storm's Boy in August. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?  
_  
  
Juice is staring out into the parking lot, absently toying with a peanut he found on the table. It rolls beneath the pad of his finger like a tiny massage ball. The salt has long been rubbed off- now it’s just satin smooth against the thick skin, imbedding a round dent into his fingertip each time he lets it circle.  
  
The summer breeze is blowing lightly, and on it it carries the voices of the people inside. There’s some laughter and the occasional roar of dismay at the baseball game playing on the tv. The Giants must be losing from the sound of the expletives and bottle thumps on the bar.  
Juice is sat outside; he wanted some quiet. Needed some air (the stench of stale beer and cloying perfume was making him nauseous).  
Out here, he can think. Though his perusal is pointed more inward in this moment, it’s done him some good to get out of TM and just watch traffic go by.  
  
Smiling wistfully, Juice thinks about how he's playing hookey today. Even though he’s all caught up on his orders, he’s still supposed to be on call, but something’s been nagging at him since last night and the distraction it was causing during the morning’s shift was almost unbearable.  
He took off after lunch.  
A half-assed explanation left Jax slightly perplexed, but some shit with a shipment from the Irish found his head elsewhere. He only half-registered Juice saying that some prospective client had talked to him about wanting a custom job – he would go by and give him an estimate.  
Luckily, the Prez was too preoccupied with closed-door club matters to question why the guy just didn’t bring the bike into the shop like everyone else did. Instead, he waved Juice away and gave him the rest of the day after the errand.

When Juice turned back to lock his tool box he noticed Jax and Chibs whispering as they huddled in the corner, and the bought smile Chibs gave him when they got caught was not reassuring.

For now, it’s another thing to add to his sack of suspicions so he’s not dwelling in it too much. The lie has got him the afternoon off and with it the time to hopefully clear his head of all this mess... if that is at all possible.   
  
Needless to say, the fib makes the prospective client disappear back into Juice’s imagination.  
This was all a ruse to get away from Jax for a bit. Juice had checked the schedule this morning and today is Tig’s day off. Seeing as he needs to talk to him in private, away from TM ears, this is the best way to get him alone.  
Maybe... maybe Tig will help him navigate these waters and set things right. He just doesn't know who he can trust anymore, so perhaps the second-least dependable brother in Jax’s eyes might be the perfect candidate. (Never mind my recent hard on for him. Totally unrelated, he thinks with noted sarcasm).

Coffee eyes dart down apprehensively to his phone. Tig should be here soon… and in Juice’s mind burdens still the broken mosaic of sentiment he needs to put together into some understandable form of expression.  
Goddammit. If only he were more eloquent.  
There’s so much he has to tell Tig. Not just about what the fuck has been cluttering up his mind of late regarding Alexander Trager himself, but also about his suspicions regarding Jax.  
  
Juice sighs. You’re being fucking paranoid, he reasons away… but then why won’t that voice in the back of his head just fucking stop tormenting him?!  
  
The beer bottle he’s babysitting is halfway full. The label is slippery, covered in condensation, and it almost escapes his salty hold when he hears Tig’s bike pulling up.  
He shifts to straighten, one Doc Marten boot slipping off the sturdy brass rail of the table in front of him and digging into the wood chips. That sends the table tipping and next the massage peanut goes flying.  
Christ Jesus. Juice is a jittery mess!  
  
There’s a crunch of gravel and he looks up primly only when Tig’s body casts a shadow over him, afraid to betray his excitement (and anxiety).

Juice’s breathing grows that much faster and a lusty feel of warmth steals over him when they finally lock eyes.  
“Hey Juice, what’s up?” Tig says from behind a cocky, masculine grin.  
Hooking his Ray Bans into his t-shirt, he enquires further, “Why we meetin’ here and not at the clubhouse? Wha, gotta pay for my beer now?” he jokes.  
Tig’s hugeness- his palpable sexuality seems to stretch and devour Juice even before he opens his mouth to answer. It’s what makes him choke up whenever he’s around him lately. Tig’s always got a raw magnetism to him that draws people in, Juice thinks. He’s only one of the latest victims.  
He returns the greeting with a faint smile and a lift of his shaved head towards the empty chair next to him. Tig’s black brow is creased now, and as he plants himself onto the hard wood, his concern for his friend marks his features. Juice looks so serious, almost like he’s about to be sick.  
  
“Hey… what’s up, brother?” Tig clasps a caring hand over Juice’s wrist, and that’s enough to quicken Tig’s pulse.  
Juice’s fingers twitch beneath, yearning to touch back. He swallows hard and diverts his gaze from those two bluebells to the blackened ashtray right in front of him.   
“Didn’t feel like going home. Got the afternoon off from TM. Didn’t feel like hanging around the clubhouse, either. Wanted to talk to you… alone.”  
  
"Yeah, sweetheart. I got that much," Tig murmurs. He wonders what this is about. Why the sudden sadness in Juice’s tone sends an old familiar shiver through him. It feels like something club-related has got him pensive- and a worried Juice is never a safe Juice to have around.

Tig was surprised when Juice texted him to meet. Not so much for the venue- Fox is a neighborhood joint about halfway between his and Juice’s places’, so it would make sense.  
It’s nothing to write home about: a typical sports bar and grill. A lot of bikers and seasonal sports fans frequent the place.  
The inside doesn’t promise any more than the exterior: it boasts a questionable taste in decor, and even more ambiguous standards of hygiene. The menu is decent and varied (though anything with mayonnaise or egg will probably land you on the toilet for two days- Tig learned the hard way). The service is slow, but the beer is cheap.  
So it wasn’t because they were supposed to meet at Fox that widened Tig's eyes when he read the text. It was the content:  
 **“Tig- need to talk to you. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone at the club we’re meeting, please.”**

Something is definitely up- the kid has yet to look at him (and Tiggy wouldn’t mind if he did, he tells himself. He’s been looking for an excuse to spend more time with him).  
Tig inches closer. “Hey Juice, look at me,” his hand reaches out and catches his chin. It’s as delicate a touch as a breathed kiss, and Juice finds the courage to meet his gorgeous gaze.  
“Talk to me, Juice.”  
  
Tig draws him near, despite being out in the open (which might seem like they’re about to kiss), and even if Tig gave a fuck what people thought, (which he doesn’t), he halts. Not for reasons anyone might suspect- only because the gesture reminds him vaguely of...

SHIT! 

...the air blows in the right direction and there’s a “shum” sound in the trees nearby of leaves rustling… and the scent hits him.  
Full memory sends him hurling back to his youth and it hits him like a Mack truck.  
Eli.   
Juice smells freshly showered and the cologne he normally uses has been replaced by something with a cool spice. There’s a hint of bergamot to it and that’s something so unusual, something he’s only ever smelled one other time…  
Tig’s first kiss with a boy.  
He’s barely able to stifle a gasp.  
Sonofabitch what’s this kid doing to me, he thinks.   
  
Though Eli’s had a hint of spruce in it, it’s the same fucking fragrance.  
Eli. Jesus Christ.  
Flashes blind Tig momentarily… he’s 17 again and being near Eli is like being enveloped in a warm drenching spring rain and that’s what it feels like lately to be around Juice.

Is this still 2015 or is this…??  
Eli. His first male kiss… his first male… everything.  
 _Goddamn._  
_  
  
Tig had gone to Eli’s house that day, it being their last summer before senior year they had decided to spend as much time together as possible. Eli would be off to college come the next fall and Alexander… well, he’d probably end up an outlaw. He’d already been checking out local biker clubs. What other future was there for a guy who didn't want to study but had street smarts? The military?  
  
Tig and Eli couldn’t have come from more different worlds. Tig, the product of abuse and a broken home, best known at school for being a heartbreaker and selling weed.  
Eli, instead, was the son of rich physicians who were home so little sometimes he joked that if it weren’t for their pictures, he’d forget what they looked like.  
  
Eli wanted for nothing except affection and acceptance. Alexander lacked all the rest plus that, so could relate. A penchant for rebellion and Eli’s taste for the “after school joint” brought their satellites crashing together.  
And the rest was history.  
  
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Alex had joked. Eli was an athlete, but lazy because he could afford to be, so he got himself benched in most sports he played. He figured, and probably not erring, that his surname and good looks would get him far enough that he could coast through college.   
Not that he was a dick- and Alex realized that pretty quickly being the wonderful judge of character he was, but like himself, Eli was the product of his environment and it would have been stupid not to take advantage. He didn't hate him for it. If Alex had been born into the same circumstances, he wouldn't have scoffed at money.   
"Baby, you know I can get away with it," was Eli's reply with a hormone-melting wink.   
  
The light-eyed marbled-skinned rich kid had an enormous heart, though, and a disdain for the very system he’d been born into. He was generous with his parents' money and never acted towards others with privilege, unlike the other spoiled assholes that attended their school. (Whose parents were of course all members of Eli's father’s same country club).  
Alexander loved that about him- his “I don’t give a fuck” attitude and Eli’s tendencies to go off on inane rants - it all reminded him a lot of himself. They both had a lot of sublimated rage to work through.   
By the end of their senior year, Tig would have learned all there was to know about Eli Mellon. And he guessed Eli would have professed the same. They had no secrets.  
(For example, not only were Eli’s nose and shoulders dusted in freckles but also certain other parts of his body... and his jet black hair grew in unruly waves which he’d shear short to tame them- the cut only bringing out his strange eyes even further. Most of all, Eli loved bringing Alexander to the edge of madness with his sexual skill: tongue, mouth, hands and cock were all handy instruments in this willing torture. That was something Tig spent a LONG time learning- it turned out to be his best subject).  
  
They’d been hiding a crush on one another all junior year, one of those situations where you know it’s reciprocated but you’re too afraid of ruining a friendship on the off chance your gut is wrong.  
But Alexander had felt certain. He’d caught Eli’s adoring eyes studying him with hopeful yearning more times than he could count. Those quick brushes of fingertips and excuses to hang out... 

That’s how their relationship had progressed… slowly. Ever increasing moments of sexual tension and a lust that only found relief in their respective beds under the cover of darkness. Until in June, that is, when both boys had had enough. It was obvious something was about to break.   
  
It was mid-morning, and the garden air was already heavy with a rose musk. Eli’s backyard was a good deal longer than it was broad, and so at the far end of the garden, hidden behind some hedges, his family had placed an oval pool.  
They were home alone, as usual. Eli and Alexander had swum and rough-housed… until a dive and a deliberate shift of Eli’s position pushed their two bodies together.   
Tig remembers how the sky was a liquid blue reflecting in the pool water- he felt like he was floating through the clouds with Eli.  
It was something unlike he’d ever seen- and made how it contrasted with the color of Eli’s irises’ even more memorable. Eli’s eyes were gray, almost unnaturally so, like the saline alkaline dust of August plains. It made Alex want to quench their arid thirst with his sea ones.   
  
They stood there inches apart, Eli’s expression so full of expectation… and invitation. A moment of silence spun a thousand tales. Eli extended his trembling hand, smoothed Alexander’s curls from his forehead, and glided the arch of his palm down Alex’s jawline until he pinched his chin.  
His breath was literally ripped from him, and Alexander felt faint.  
  
"Alex..."   
Eli saw himself reflected in the Viking blue of his friend’s eyes, which mirrored the sky, whose color also surrounded them in the pool water. _Eli was literally drowning in Alexander because Alexander was the blue azure of the sea and the heaven’s unmeasured blue and Christ he hadn’t felt this alive with anyone… ever!_  
  
The boys grabbed each other without saying another word, fingers moving across their water-slippery flesh with a hunger that had been suffocated for months.  
Alexander’s hand tightened on Eli’s forearm in a grip of rough need, and Eli’s touch to the small of his back - firm and persuasive in drawing their groins together- promised so much more as their mouths meshed in a cool, slick kiss.  
_  
  
It kills him, this scent. Tig wants to test it more, tug up the fabric of Juice’s sleeve and sniff it, maybe press a nose into Juice’s supple neck and see if all of him smells like that- Jesus Christ!  
An aching sorrow sours him like an old wound on a rainy day, and he shakes himself back to the present. “Juice… don’t make me ask again. What’s going on?”  
  
The inner torment is all too visible on his face. “Tig,” Juice’s voice thickens. Instead of blurting out his truth- that he loves him... that he’s been going insane with longing and that’s why he’s been acting so much weirder than usual… he spits the other thing out in a total panic. The suspicion he was supposed to save until the very end, when he knew where Tig stood.   
  
“Tig, I think Jax wants to kill me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quote at the beginning from George Eliot. 
> 
> Also explicit is for future chapter content. This one is rather tame.  
> Comments and kudos are always lovely, my lovelies. Thanks for reading me.


End file.
